literal fluffy fics for a thing

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Sherlock slid out of the booth to go order at the bar, what he’d purchased months ago to be his “fat clothes” was looking a tad snug at his waist and more than snug across his round bum. He could feel John’s eyes at his back. John quickly fired off a text of what to order-

Get me a Lager

&Get 2 dinners

?- SH

For yourself. Get 2 dinners. The most fattening things on their menu.

And Don’t forget to order yourself a snack to eat while you wait for those 2 dinners.

Sherlock turns around to make eye contact with a John, who is smirking back at him from behind his phone at the back booth they were sharing with Lestrade. John and Sherlock had only recently been bringing their …proclivities ..out into public. They figured they may as well if Sherlock was going to eventually get too big to hide what they got up to behind the closed doors of 221B (and he was already up a stone and a half- just enough that a going up a size in his clothes was necessary to hopefully camouflage most of it). He turned to order John’s drink and his own dinner-for-two-for-one, remembering to ask if they sold crisps.

“What’s up with Sherlock?”, Lestrade says observing the consulting detective tear into 2 packets of crisps at the bar while he waits, Sherlock’s newly plush rear spreading out over the unforgiving wood and leather. “Lately almost anytime I see him he’s stuffing his face. The other day he was working in one of our empty offices and I watched him eat an entire family size order of Pad Thai with Rangoons and a sleeve of biscuits by himself while we worked….”

John willed himself to not get hard while Lestrade voiced his concerns, especially since he had been the one to order that family sized meal to be delivered from Sherlock’s favorite Thai take away. Memories of Sherlock arriving home that evening for dinner still halfway stuffed and then being prodded into demolishing another family size order of Thai food and a large slice of cheesecake before surcoming to a food coma until his midnight snack of more cheesecake and a combination of warm, heavy cream mixed with protein powder.

“… Y’know, mate?”

‘What? I mean yeah, I.. I.. I don’t know what to tell you…”

“I’m just concerned is all after everything the past few years. I’d hate for him to hurt himself by I don’t know eating all this junk or something. Not to mention he’s not getting any younger, he’ll not be able to do all of this running about if he gets fat”

John practically moans when he imagines Sherlock round and soft at three- no! four or even maybe even five hundred pounds; his enormous arse and massive thighs bouncing and wobbling, billowing belly swaying as he attempts to give chase or better yet actually . His cherubic face flushed pink from the exertion of a case well solved then later letting John reward him with enough food to leave him panting, beached and borderline ready to pop on the sofa for hours to make up for all the burned calories and stress.